


The Seat of Destiny

by JoansGlove



Series: QueenFreak [2]
Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-08 06:58:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14688888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoansGlove/pseuds/JoansGlove
Summary: Another interview with The Governor. Another sticky end.





	The Seat of Destiny

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Missolitude](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missolitude/gifts).



> Happy birthday my dear dirty one x

“Smith to see you, Governor.”

Joan turned from the low filing cabinet as the prisoner was ushered in. “Thank you, Miss Miles, that will be all.”

“Yes Governor.” The door closed but Joan knew that Miles was still standing on the other side, probably with her ear pressed against the wood hoping to overhear something juicy. Silently she advanced and Smith trembled a little as she skimmed her hands up her sides and lifted the slight woman off the floor by her armpits, pinning her to the door with her bodyweight and a gloved hand around her throat. A single finger held to her parted lips silenced the prisoner, and Joan allowed herself a sultry smile of anticipation as slim legs wrapped themselves tightly around her waist.

 

Their eyes locked in a searing stare and Joan could read Smith’s trepidation, could feel her anxious desire in the way that Smith’s thighs tensed against her, and it felt good. Her clever ears effortlessly interpreted the soft, breathy sounds that a sharp thrust of her hips elicited, and with a calculated slowness designed for maximum effect, she teasingly dragged her lower lip across Smith’s before tracing the delicate curve of her chin with her mouth, sliding her hand down over the prisoner’s heaving chest as her lips continued their tantalising journey to the soft hollow of Smith’s throat.

 

Raising her face, she smiled with dark intent and cocked an ear, listening for a moment before saying loudly, “you may go now, Miss Miles.” A sharp gasp of shock filtered through the door and Joan’s handsome features hardened in dislike as muffled footsteps retreated across the outer office and the door clicked shut, they quickly softened again though as she returned her attention to the job in hand. “Get undressed,” she ordered and stepped away from Smith, causing the woman to hastily disengage her legs or else, tumble to the floor.

“What? No ‘Hello, it’s nice to see you again’?” asked Bea with a show of sarcastic bravado. Her body thrummed with the residual electricity of Ferguson's touch and her expectant gaze crawled over The Governor’s elegant frame, seeking out the curves of her thighs and high arse and her heavy breasts on their way to her dark, hypnotic eyes.

A brief flicker of amusement flitted over Joan's face and she graced Smith with a broad, welcoming smile. “Hello, Bea, how have you been? I’m so glad that you could make it.” The smile slipped from her mouth, “now get undressed.”

 

As Bea complied, Joan strolled behind her broad desk and killed the monitor before wheeling her chair towards the window and raising it as high as it would go in readiness. She caught Smith watching her, a small inquisitive frown scrunching her pale face, and she flashed her a wicked grin that intimated that all would be revealed in good time. Satisfied that everything was in order, she approached the now naked Smith and, with a sure hand in the small of her back, guided her around her desk towards the chair where she bid her to kneel on the broad seat.

 

The leather was cool against her knees and she gripped the back rest for balance as she clambered up. Leaning over her, Ferguson positioned it just so and then moved into the empty space behind her desk. Bea’s bright eyes took in her every fluid movement as she tried to work out what Ferguson was up to. They widened as, pulling out a black cloth bag from the uppermost desk drawer, Ferguson dangled it in front of her face. “Now then Smith,” she drawled, “this evening requires that you don’t look at me until I tell you otherwise, understand? What I have planned demands your compliance. Do I have it?”

Bea looked from the bag to Ferguson then back again. “Yeah, OK, whatever you say. You're running this show.”

“Precisely, Smith,” replied Joan smoothly, “but let me be clear on this, if I catch you looking then I’ll bag you and you can spend the next two days in the Slot reflecting on what you did wrong. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Miss Ferguson.”

“Good.” She spun the chair around 180 degrees and they both stared at their vague reflections in the window. Dusk was beginning to fall and soon the soft orange glow of the yard lights would begin to filter into her lair, turning the spotless panes into a mirror. Smith may not be able to look at her but she would see her nevertheless.

 

Stripping off her leather gloves, she sauntered into the recess of her office and locked the door. Her eyes never left Smith as her deft fingers made short work of the shiny buttons on her jacket and equally quickly moved to her belt buckle and trouser fly. Stepping out of her glossy shoes she eased her trousers down her long legs and draped them over the coat stand; her jacket, then shirt and tie followed but before she went any further she took a moment to run her hands over the thin, silky fabric that shielded her breasts and groin. Delicious little tingles flowed from her fingers and her breathing deepened as she allowed the pleasure to build. She circled the matching ring of bruises around her areolae, pressing hard on the still tender marks left behind by Maggie's wicked little alligator clips as her thighs clenched in response. They weakened and threatened to give way as she pressed her thumbs against her hard nipples and crimson pain flared from the tender flesh so recently pierced and abused.

 

A dull ache arced through her breasts and quickened the tingle between her thighs as she quickly unfastened her bra and bent to slide her knickers down quivering legs, and she flashed an anticipatory glance at the naked woman waiting obediently for her across the room as, from the shadowy rear of the rack, she lifted her trusty old utility belt. As Governor, she had no further need to wear it but she hadn’t been able to bring herself to throw it away – it held far too many memories – yet she had worn it this morning in preparation for this moment. A small shiver of excitement crawled up her spine and along her swelling sex as she settled the smooth, highly polished leather around her waist and slipped the tail through the heavy buckle.

 

Returning to stand behind Smith, Joan opened the large, bottom drawer and fished out a harness of thick black rubber and the cock that she’d used to deflower Vera of her innocence. She adored this cock – it fitted her like a glove – and her fingers skated lovingly over its shiny length as she insinuated the bulbous plug into her eager depths. Snugging the contoured cock firmly between swelling labia, she cinched herself into the harness and scrubbed absently at her thigh as a trailing strap tickled her skin. But she wasn’t done yet, reaching into the drawer again she retrieved two sets of shiny link handcuffs which she tucked into the back of her belt, and a pair of her trusty black latex gloves.

 

Bea’s ears pricked up as she heard the snap of rubber on skin but she didn’t have long to think about it as the chair rocked alarmingly and Ferguson rolled it up against the window sill. “Knees wide apart,” she ordered, “that’s it.”

Bea gasped as something cool and slick slid between her thighs and then shook with a deep, uncontrollable shudder as Ferguson's long arms snaked around her and she was pulled into the furnace of her naked embrace. Fuck! Ferguson was naked! Her hard nipples generated twin prickles on Bea’s shoulder blades and she fought for breath as a firestorm of throbbing desire radiated out from the sudden, swollen wetness of her cunt. The way that Ferguson was sliding that thing against her was insane. Ferguson's lips brushed her ear. “What do you think of the view?” she asked casually as her large hands roamed Bea’s body.

All she could think about was that, unbelievably, this was her fantasy coming true. “What?” she asked distractedly.

“The view, what’s your opinion?”

Gloved fingers tickled the top of her slit and Bea almost melted. “It’s OK,” she managed. Oh, god – was this really happening?

“Better than the usual combination of sky and concrete that you're used to, I imagine?”

“What? Yeah, I suppose.”

“But you’d rather be looking at me, eh, Smith?”

“You know I would.”

“All in good time, it doesn’t do to get what you want too quickly.”

“Huh!” she exclaimed thickly, “you have.”

“No, not yet, I haven’t. But I’m not greedy – I can wait.”

 

Brutally strong fingers seized her nipples and Bea exhaled sharply as a bolt of desire shot through her body. She released a moan as Ferguson began to roll them between her thumbs and forefingers, fighting for balance against the tremors that rippled along her inner thighs and filled her lower belly. Ferguson’s hands moved to cover her breasts and Bea moaned again, her blind fingers finding the curve of Ferguson's hips and raking the firm flesh as polished nails scraped over her sensitive tits.

Sliding her hands down to Bea’s, Joan smoothly guided them over the upper slopes of her backside and held them there as she worked her body against Smith’s. Then her fingers slid around to the silky hardness of the cuffs and slowly, she drew them out from beneath the belt, shivering a little as the cool metal tickled her skin. She enveloped Smith in her long arms once more, seeking out a small breast and fondling it roughly, then stroking it lightly with the serrated strand of a cuff.

 

Bea’s hands faltered on Ferguson's hips as she realised what Ferguson was holding. “What are you gonna do with those?” she asked sharply.

“Nothing bad, Smith, I assure you,” came the velvet reply.

Bea bit her lip as Joan tickled the very tip of her nipple. “Are you going to cuff me to the chair? I don’t want that.”

“Oh no,” Joan reassured her in a voice like smoke, “I’m going to cuff you to me.” She paused to trail the polished metal along the soft skin of Bea’s jaw, “may I?”

The thought of being manacled to a woman like Ferguson was beyond comprehension but she instinctively knew that she wanted it. Bea nodded wordlessly and let her hand fall to her sides.

With practiced ease, Joan unlocked the cuffs and secured one around each of Smith’s delicate wrists, then stretching out one long arm she placed the key on the windowsill before catching up the dangling steel and deftly clicking the bracelets shut around the shining D-rings sewn into the sides of her belt. The strong muscles in her back flexed as she adjusted herself to the prisoner’s weight and she began.

 

A fluttering grew in Bea’s chest as she allowed herself to be pushed forward, and the padded leather cradled her chest and shoulders as Ferguson drew back her hips and nudged the tip of her cock between her swollen lips. As the thick shaft began pushing at the entrance to her vagina, Bea experienced a bolt of terror and she froze, all of her excitement and wanting fleeing in an instant. Ferguson had already taken her from behind, fingerfucking her until she came all over her hand – but this was different. It was too reminiscent of Harry’s brand of fucking for comfort – he’d always preferred to rape her from behind, pinning her helplessly down until he’d finished…

“Wait…” she muttered urgently, “I need a moment. Can you just stop for a minute?”

Joan took a quick half-step backwards, breaking contact with her cunt. “What’s the matter, Smith?” the struggle in the woman’s voice and her sudden tenseness told her that this wasn’t as simple as a sudden case of cramp. “Do you want me to uncuff you?” she asked gently.

“No, it’s just... I, he… Harry…”

A vicarious hatred twisted Joan's concerned expression; Smith’s husband was the whole package – a wife beater and a rapist to boot – it was a shame that she hadn’t killed him when she had the chance, she reflected grimly. “I’m not Harry,” she soothed, “I may push your boundaries but I have no intention of hurting you, Bea.”

 

Bea knew that this wasn’t the same - there was none of the coercion, none of the brutality - but the memory still haunted her. “No, I know. Just let me do this myself though, yeah?” Pulling on the cuffs she rocked back onto the cock and fixed her gaze on their reflection in the window - it was almost dark outside now and the two of them appeared as ghostly, amber tinted wraiths. This was Ferguson she reminded herself, Ferguson who haunted her daydreams, Ferguson who fired this newfound need in her – not the man who thought that he owned her. “Kiss my neck?” she asked and turned her head to the side, shivering as the Governor lifted her hair and laid her hot, soft lips on the skin behind her ear. A twisted feeling of security calmed her senses and, as Ferguson slowly stroked her breasts, she relaxed into her sure touch, gasping loudly as the head of the cock finally slipped inside and ignited a thousand nerve endings.

 

“Ohhh..!” She never, _ever_ thought that it could feel this good! Ferguson fucked her with short, deep jabs and Bea would swear that a thousand bees had been released inside her. She buzzed with every solid thrust, a delirium of pleasure flowing from her core, making her giddy and breathless and light and, and… Oh, fuck! It felt amazing! Hands slid around to her back and she submitted to their gentle persuasion, leaning forward into the chair back, her fingers hooking through the slender steel bracelets at Ferguson’s waist as her nipples teasingly brushed the stitched leather with every slap of the Governor’s belly against her arse.

 

Joan was extremely pleased that Smith had overcome her brief moment of aversion and that she was now very evidently enjoying her attentions. The noises that she was wringing from the prisoner spoke directly to her cunt and she curled her palms around Smith’s forearms, angling her hips upwards as she pounded steadily into her shimmying captive, grinding her throbbing clit on the moulded inner ridges of her cock as her own need built with surprising speed.  This was proving to be far more rewarding than anticipated – _far_ more rewarding – and luscious darts of pleasure arrowed relentlessly through her belly, filling her with explosions of shuddering lust, causing her to recklessly hoist Smith into a crouching position, shoving her forwards in the capacious seat as she leaned back and plunged deeper and faster into her slurping wetness.

 

Chest hard against knees, Bea arched her shoulders and stared glassy-eyed at Ferguson's reflection. She marvelled slack-jawed at the vision mirrored in the darkened pane. A sultry, wicked triumph radiated from the Governor’s flushed face, softening her stern features and rendering her almost beautiful in the dim light; her smooth skin shone like polished ivory, shadows playing in the hollows of her shoulders and the dip of her collarbone, and her breasts as she moved… fffuck! The sight of Ferguson's breasts left her wholly weak and Bea let forth a deep groan at the thought of pressing her face deep into their wobbling softness. She was hypnotised by their perfect creamy curve, desperate to brush her tongue across the swollen pink nipples – she could almost feel their shape in her mouth – and she caught her lips between her teeth, inhaling deeply and holding the breath deep in her lungs as a dark, demanding wave of lust made her quiver and hang from her unforgiving cuffs.

 

Joan knew that Smith was watching her reflection, she could feel it in the way a wantonness crept into her movements. “Do you like what you see?” she asked, her carmine lips twitching provocatively at the woman’s naked voyeurism.

“Ohhh, fuck yes!” moaned Bea.

“Ohhh, fuck yes, _what_ Smith?”

“Ohhh, fuck yes, Miss Ferguson!”

“That’s better,” she purred and stroked a gloved hand up Bea’s muscular spine, gripping the chair as she fitted herself against the sensuous curve of her back. “Are you hoping that you’ll see more?” she teased.

“Yes, Miss Ferguson.”

“Do you really _need_ to see more when you have me wrapped around you? Surely this,” she snaked her other hand around Bea’s waist and surged forward, her breath hot on Smith’s neck, “should be enough for you…” The prisoner emitted a strangled moan and clawed at the rubber circling Joan’s hips.

 

Smith seemed to weigh nothing as Joan lifted her and rammed her ribs into the padded leather, half climbing onto the seat as she ground slow and hard against her. The chair rocked alarmingly but she took no heed and crushed Smith in her embrace. Two pairs of eyes locked in the dim glass and Joan maintained their connection as she lowered her mouth to the velvety curve of Smith’s neck and sank her teeth into the straining muscle beneath. Fuck, she needed this! Maggie’s recent visit had stoked a fire in her loins that Vera just couldn’t extinguish, but the encouraging development in her dealings with Smith meant she could indulge some of her more immediate needs before they drove her crazy.    

 

Plush lips brushed her ear and Bea felt suddenly weak. “Why do you need to look at me, Smith?”

“Because you're… Ohh!” she gasped as Ferguson cupped her breast and squeezed.

“Because you find me attractive?”

Bea drank in the beauty of Ferguson's reflection. “Yes!”

“Hot?” she traced a line down Smith’s belly and lightly ruffled her damp thatch. 

“Yes!” she squawked.

“Sex-y?” Her clit was rolled between gloved fingers and Bea thought that she would lose her mind. “Do you think of me, Bea?” Joan whispered, “do you dream of me doing this to you?”

“Yessss…!”

 

Ferguson's fingers circled and pressed, circled and pressed, circled and pressed, becoming faster and more insistent until Bea was trembling and moaning uncontrollably. Her tortured shoulders screamed for release as wracking spasms twisted her in their grip and then she was filled with the sweetest feeling – as if a ball of electricity was gathering in her belly, thirstily drawing charge from her limbs as it grew and pulsed and arced inside her. Numb fingers found the sturdy leather belt and Bea hung on for dear life.

“Come for me, Smith. Let it go! Give it to me!”

Ferguson's demand flicked a mental switch and the crackling, biting ball of energy exploded, slamming through her like an atom bomb as Ferguson continued to fuck her hard and slow. She shook violently as her senses were ravaged and she hung from her restraints, helpless and stunned in the wake of her crescendo, unable to do little more than draw fractured breaths as she gave herself up to Ferguson's relentless rhythm.

 

Smith’s wild cries spurred her arousal to the point of no return. Clutching the limp woman even tighter, Joan threw her weight onto her, grinding her damaged nipples hard into Smith’s sinewy, contorted back, and her cunt responded instantly.  She could feel how her orgasm was rapidly gathering force in the way that the small muscles low down in her belly tightened just that little bit more, how her clit began to throb with the purest bliss, growing ever more responsive to the insistent kiss of her cock as it kneaded her intimate flesh, until it was just about all she cared about. She grabbed Smith’s hips with claw-like fingers and dragged her to the edge of the seat, forcing her to kneel once more, legs together, and fucked her with hard, rolling thrusts.

Seemingly of their own volition, her hands flew to Smith’s shoulders, curling themselves around the bony joints and forcing Smith down onto her cock. Jesus, she could feel it coming! Her laboured breathing slowed as her soul was enveloped in a grip as soft as sable and as demanding as the devil. A hoarse whimper was ripped from her throat as her hips bucked convulsively and she stiffened, her long back bowing as she curled in on her thundering ecstasy and collapsed forwards into the chair, crushing Smith in an awkward tangle of knees and elbows. 

And as they lay wedged together in the long minute it took Ferguson to recover her senses, Bea basked in the happy knowledge that she had made her come loud and hard.

 

Joan groped for the small silver key and strong ripples of residual sensation made her quiver as she released a still-twitching Smith from the cuffs and slowly eased out of her. “How will you explain this visit to your friends?” she asked and turned Smith’s face away, levering herself unsteadily to her feet as the prisoner stared hungrily at her golden reflection.

“I’ll tell them that you wanted a haircut,” Bea replied, totally deadpan.

Joan snorted in amusement and angled the chair towards the window to afford Smith a better view. “Maybe stick to something a little less fanciful, hmm? But I think you’d do well to keep _your_ hair down until this heals,” she observed and idly ran a latex covered fingertip around the livid imprint of her teeth.

“Yeah, thanks for that - and these…” Bea held up her reddened wrists and raised her insolent gaze towards the dark, reflected pools of Joan's eyes.

Joan's good humour suddenly cooled as once more she was reminded just how ungrateful these women were, she would not stand here and be rebuked by a prisoner. If she didn’t require her co-operation so badly she’d teach Smith some manners. “If you're that concerned then you could always recuperate in the slot,” she offered with a sarcastic smile, “no one will trouble you in there.” She gave a curt nod of satisfaction as Smith’s eyes faltered and she looked away.

 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to complain, Governor,” she said apologetically, and hugged her knees tightly to her chest as she stared out at the orange glow of night-time suburbia. It wouldn’t be long now until she was out in those streets and tracking down her quarry, but she still need a favour or two more from Ferguson before she could make her move. She couldn’t blow it now.

“I should hope not, Smith,” replied Joan, only slightly mollified. With a quick glance at the clock she padded over to her clothes, sticky cock bouncing ahead of her with every step as she unbuckled the harness. Bea could only watch open mouthed at the way Ferguson's magnificent rear swayed as she retreated into the shadows, and she vowed that she would strip the damn woman naked before she went over the wall – _might as well make the most of it before she decides to hate me forever_ she reasoned. She continued watching with mixed feelings as Ferguson hid her tall, ivory skinned body beneath her uniform, and she slowly uncurled herself in preparation for her dismissal.  

 

And, despite the knowledge that whatever they had between them was business (albeit very pleasurable business), Bea suddenly felt very alone as Ferguson ordered an escort to take her back to H Block. She sat across the desk from the Governor as she waited for Vera to collect her and marvelled at how quickly Ferguson could switch from suavely familiar to coldly impersonal; here she was now, reading something on her laptop and scratching down notes in a small book with one of her yellow pencils as if Bea weren’t even there.

 

“Are you working back tonight, Miss Ferguson?”

Joan didn’t look up, she knew what Smith was trying to do. “No,” she said slowly as her pencil continued its journey across the page.

Bea tried again. “Are you working back at all this week?”

“I can’t see that it’s any business of yours, Smith.”

“No, I suppose not.”

Joan raised her eyes to the prisoner’s and laid the pencil aside. “Were you hoping to thank me for this evening?” she leaned back and coolly interrogated Smith’s neutral expression, “or is there something else that you need of me?”

Bea laughed disarmingly and dipped her gaze coyly, “well, a girl can dream.” She looked back up at Joan and her smile faded, “there is one thing that you can do for me, though.” Ferguson raised an eyebrow in interest. “I want you to move me into Liz’s old cell.”

She was filled with mixture of prideful glee and satisfaction, tinged with a good dash of curiosity, and Joan smiled warmly. “So, you're finally making your move on Doyle, good! But you know,” she continued in a more serious tone, “moving you back is a calculated risk. She'll see you as a threat, but it will unsettle her, too. Create opportunity.” Joan picked up her pencil and nonchalantly tested its point with her thumb as her smile became conspiratorial, “it's in your best interests to strike first,” she advised.

“Alright. But when I take her down, I'll do it when _I'm_ ready.”

“I'm simply telling you, I can put you back into Doyle's orbit, but I cannot be seen to interfere in any other way.”

 

They were interrupted by a knock on the door and Vera entered. “Thank you, Miss Bennett,” purred Joan as she returned her attention to her laptop without even so much as a glance towards her Deputy.

“Governor,” acknowledged Vera tightly, “come on, Smith,” she ordered and ushered her out, pausing briefly to cast a final, inquisitive glance towards Joan before closing the door on her.

Ahhh, thought Joan with a self-congratulatory smile spreading across her face, it was all starting to gel. The struggle to clean up this prison would soon be over, and then she’d be able to turn her attentions fully to the disposal of Mister Jackson, and what a day that would be!


End file.
